


Run and Hide

by Zeffy



Category: Homeland
Genre: Action, F/M, Fluff and Smut, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:02:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7346179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeffy/pseuds/Zeffy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of action with a happy ending.<br/>Fills prompt №6 by Laure: "What if... Quinn hadn't succeeded to knock Carrie out in 5-04."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run and Hide

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and kudos to my friendly Aussie editor HomemadeLemonade ♥ :)

She feels an arm on her neck, grabbing her from behind. He's strong, much stronger than she is, and taller. She can't breathe. He tries to knock her out cold, pressing on her carotid artery, and she knows she's done if he succeeds. 

Shit. He was hit by the bullet, on the ground, just 30 seconds ago, she was sure she'd got him. 

First instinct is to pull on his hand, trying to get some air, but she knows it is a mistake, she’ll never make him let her go this way. She lets go of his arm, a tough but necessary decision, and grasps at his hair – tries to- but he's wearing a fucking hood, the hood’s gone, next attempt – succeed, jerks strongly, really quickly, but hell his hair is short, slipping trough her fingers, and he knows now what she's aiming for. She tries to catch him by his ear, but he snatches both her wrists with his big palm, holding still, and she’s almost helpless, but during the fight he weakens the grip around her throat and she can take a breath or two, her brain receiving blood and oxygen, and she uses this moment to hit his ankle with the heel of her shoe – not very effectively, his boots are high and cover the weak spots – simultaneously bending down to throw him over her back, using the slope that forms the local landscape to make it easier, and they are both rolling down the hill, her neck is finally free of his grip, she inhales deeply, but she’s pinned to him, top to toe, and – she manages to note with surprise – his hands are wrapped around her nape and shoulders, as if he wants to protect her from hitting her head, and she feels his breath on the curve of her neck, and her hands are stuck between them, so all she can do is wait for their joint movement to stop. 

Carrie, god she's a fighter, first a bullet to his back, now this reckless resistance, even knowing her assailant is much stronger and bigger. She won't surrender, for fucks sake, making his assignment messy and complicated, hurting them both. When she's around, it always goes down this road. The syringe with sedative is lost somewhere in the grass, his plan is fucked – he'd have to explain himself, to confront her, losing precious moments he could use to get them to the safe place. 

They finally stop spinning. She's on her back, pressed to the ground, wet grass chilling the bare skin of her upper arms, he's on top, she’s still pretty much unable to move, to catch her breath – he’s heavy - yet she is making attempts to disentangle her legs from his, refusing to give up. 

“Hey, hey, Carrie, it's me, please stop fighting.” 

“Quinn?” 

He frees his arm to raise slightly, making an eye contact, other hand held in place under her head. He indicates to her to keep silent, but she's too agitated to register his gesture. 

“God, Quinn, why are you here?” 

His palm goes over her mouth, making her stop talking. 

“You're all right?” – he asks in a low voice, and she nods, staring at him, seeking answers, her breath is ragged because he's still pressing her to the ground with his weight, and his hand makes it worse, but he can't get up, can't let her question him, what if they are watching? Checking on him? What if the house is under surveillance? Whoever it was - Saul, or someone else who put her name in the box - doesn't matter now, he has to proceed. 

“Listen to me very carefully. Your name is on the kill list. They sent me to do the job... No, no, stop moving, they might be here, watching. You’re out cold. Hold still. Don't speak. Do you understand?” 

She nods again, and he can finally remove his palm from her lips. She inhales, exhales and shuts her eyes, relaxing her muscles. She's good. He even believes for a second she passed out for real. He can stand up now, regretting losing contact with her body, small but so strong. He lifts her up and carries to the car, placing her carefully on the rear seat, and she opens her eyes again while he helps her to settle, offering her his hoodie - it's cold, she's freezing, - and she wraps herself in it. She feels the heat of his body and his scent left on the fabric, and it is comforting. He needs to pack her things, so he leaves her there. 

When he's back with her belongings, it looks like she fell asleep. No wonder, she's exhausted, pale, and as far as he can see, she boozed and was off her meds these days. Her crazy wall is back, but this time it's not just one wall, it's the whole room full of pictures, an utter mess, no system, she was too far gone solving her life-or-death problem – who is after her. It's heartbreaking – her brilliance, her condition. Her stubbornness – she still believes in her superpowers, and that medication deprives her of them, making her a mediocrity. But there's nothing mediocre about her. 

Her bravery, and the lengths she goes to get to the bottom of things, her fight for life. She shot him, he’d be dead if it was not for the bulletproof vest, and then she managed to knock him down with her bare hands, even taken by surprise, in a very disadvantageous position. He couldn't recall anyone who managed to break out of his hold. She did. 

Is she manic? She was, but she's sleeping, it's a good sign, maybe the catastrophe can be avoided. 

He's back at the house, cleaning up, leaving nothing that can lead to her. Walking through the dark rooms, he is wondering, how is that possible to feel safe enough to sleep like that. Two years passed since they last saw each other, he was sent to kill her, she tried to take him out too, and her real enemy was still out there, yet obviously it was her first profound sleep in days. Would she trust anyone like that, feel so protected? Would she ever question his loyalty, or his methods, ask him why the hell he preferred to knock her out, not talk to her instead? 

He’s done. Time to get out of here. 

But it's too late. When he exits the house, they are there, two guns point at him, and the third guy steps out of the shadows behind his back, quickly tying his hands with the duct tape before he can even move. The car is empty, doors open, Carrie is not there. He panics, what have they done? But a second later - there's hope – if they got her, he’d be dead already, a bullet to his head without a warning, way easier for the attackers to get rid of him, than risking dealing with an assassin. 

Good girl, she probably noticed something and escaped. And he – what was he thinking? Leaving her alone in the car like that… but he was sure nobody would intervene in his assignment, why would they? Was he made? No, probably something else happened. Maybe they need her alive, want to interrogate her? At this point he was no longer sure it was Saul who wanted her dead, if it's Saul, maybe he changed his mind and… no, highly unlikely. If it was Saul, he wouldn't stand here with the gun at his head. 

They walk inside, and he is tied – legs and torso – to the kitchen chair. The guy has a knife in his hand, and one simple question: 

“Where is she?” 

Carrie is on the roof. She can't recall how she made it there, adrenaline makes a lot of things achievable, and she sees that the bad guys captured Quinn, one of them just led him inside, two keep the watch at the door. She can't see anyone else, and that's good - three is the number she can deal with. Thing is, she needs to get closer to have a better angle, the guys are standing close to the wall and she can hardly see them. She crawls, silently and carefully, to the edge of the roof, but suddenly the tile slips from under her foot and to the ground, luckily, due to the pitch of the roof, it lands around the corner, sound subdued by the grass and soil. One leaves to check the source of the noise, and it's her lucky chance, she takes him out with one clean shot, then redirects her rifle towards the second guy who runs to see what happened, and she has to turn quickly on the slippery inclined surface, she takes a shot but loses her balance and a moment later she's at the ground, her ankle is hurt, maybe broken, and the second guy is still alive. Her rifle is stuck somewhere on the roof, she’s disarmed, fuck, she has to move as fast as she can because the third guy is on his way, she notices a gun on the ground, good, guy number two dropped it, and he's still on the ground, his wound is serious but she can't turn her back to him, and she hears the third guy is on his way, she rolls over to reach for the gun, points at the door, keeping her eye on number two. She can't kill him, she wants to ask who sent them, and number three is at the door but he doesn't exit, smart cautious bastard, and she's ready to shoot but she hears “Carrie don't shoot it's me”, and it's Quinn. 

He killed number three, but he has a stab wound in his thigh, his jeans are soaked with blood. He walks slowly, it's noticeable that he has trouble stepping on the injured leg, and she probably can't walk on her own at all. But they've made it. 

“You hurt?” 

“No big deal. You?” 

“Quinn, there's a lot of blood.” 

“It's not that bad, believe me. So, what about you?” 

“Ankle. Can't move it” 

He kneels to see her foot, cautiously taking her shoe off, examining it. 

“It's only a dislocation. Take a deep breath” 

She does, and at this time he resets the joint to its place. 

Carrie utters a shriek, but it feels better right away. 

He checks on the second guy only to find him already dead. Bad luck, no information so far about their employer. 

He helps her to get up, and they go limping toward the car as fast as they can. 

He’s driving, heading south. It's a long ride, they are both tired and hurt. They switched cars an hour ago, it’s a van, grey and unremarkable, just what’s needed for those who don't seek attention. He was ready to run and hide, keeping her safe. 

She can't drive, her right ankle is swollen and useless, and the wound in his thigh hurts like hell, but he can't take stronger painkillers that can slow him down. Hours passed since they left the wood house, no one around, for sure nobody's following. They are in the middle of nowhere, and he turns to a dirt road and parks there behind the trees. They need some rest. 

They've hardly said a dozen words to each other since they met, but they act in sync, like they read each other's minds. He helps her out from the front seat, and soon she’s settled inside the rear part of the van, she sighs - it's a pleasure to stretch, it's almost as comfortable as a bed. 

She can't close her eyes yet, she needs to take care of Quinn’s stab-wound. He takes off his jeans, trying not to wince – the wound is indeed not that bad, but it's rather deep. Carrie cleans it cautiously, applying an antibiotic cream to prevent infection, and then dresses it carefully. At last, Quinn can take stronger medication for the pain. 

He puts on jogging pants – he has a bag with the change of clothes and other essential things, along with some food, in the van. He's always well prepared. He finds an instant cold pack for Carrie's ankle. 

Now it's her turn, she has to get rid of her dirty blood stained jeans, too tight around her injured leg, but she can hardly touch it without being hit by stinging pain. She takes off her jeans down to the knee level and then she's stuck. Quinn searches through the first aid kit and kneels at her feet with the scissors, cutting the fabric and then slowly and carefully sliding it off her leg, then helps her with the other one, making a pile of their clothes under her feet to keep her hurt ankle up during the night, and finally dabs the instant cold pack to the damaged spot. 

Carrie exhales, lying down and relaxing, realizing how stiff her body was all the time. She watches Quinn through her lashes, waiting for him to lie down next to her, for the first time thinking – and noticing that her heart beats a bit faster at the thought – that they are together, having each other's back, again, after years of separation, experiencing the danger and adrenaline rush, and it's twisted and simple at the same time – them, this van, the twilight, the silence and the proximity, and the anticipation of what comes next. 

He doesn't move for a while, looking down at her from where he is sitting, she can't see his face in the dim light that shines through the windows, can't read his expression, and then he shifts forward, bending down to her, and she is caught between his elbows, his body just an inch above her, so she forgets to breathe, painfully aware of his closeness, feeling the warmth radiating from his body, and she needs desperately to close this distance between them, but she waits. 

He looks at her, eyes hazed, smiling, with affection, and suddenly she gets it: 

“Ah, I see, your pills work.” 

“I missed you Carrie Mathison. You are so fucking beautiful.”

“Geez you're high.” 

“So what?” 

“Nothing. Just envy. Let's sleep, Quinn.” 

And he kisses her, his lips so soft and tender, very briefly, and stretches beside, arm around her, closing his eyes, muttering in her hair “good night“, and ten seconds later he’s out. 

Carrie lies in the darkness, listening to his deep calm breath, and soon she’s asleep too. 

The morning comes and they drive again, and the landscape slowly changes, the trees and plants are those that prefer warmer climate, plane trees and cypresses instead of oaks and lindens, and the air is dryer but it feels like the sea is near. 

They both feel better, Carrie’s leg, carefully wrapped by Quinn in an elastic bandage, hurts less and she can stand on both feet and walk cautiously. Quinn’s wound is also healing, neither bleeding, nor inflamed, and they had a good night's sleep. 

They don't talk, don't discuss what happened last night, yet she sees something’s shifted, his look, intense as ever, always sending shivers down her spine, now has a glimpse of warmth glowing through the icy surface, and she feels this warmth almost physically, cherishes it in her heart. She takes his hand and holds it as they ride. 

He thinks how unusual it is, their intimate connection that grows closer naturally and so astonishingly fast as they don't fight it anymore. They give in, and they end up sleeping in each other's arms and holding hands, and exchange knowing smiles, and he dares to picture what comes next. 

But reality strikes, and soon they both are tense, watching the cars that follow, a lot of cars heading south with the same speed, and they suspect every other one to be their pursuer. They reroute, make stops, accelerate, slow down, turn to the minor roads, return back to make sure they are not followed. All goes fine until the moment they realize they're fucked: two SUVs are keeping pace with their van for half an hour, speeding up and decelerating along with them. Carrie panics. If they turn to the secondary road, the followers would block them and make them stop, and two people who can hardly walk and own one gun and one knife for the two of them can hardly win the fight. They also can't get rid of the tail in the dense traffic without a risk of police involvement. They both understand that they have to face the danger, sooner or later, and after a brief conversation they decide to exit the main road, leave the car on the roadside and hide nearby, attacking the pursuers and taking them out one by one. They find the right place to turn, and after gaining some speed and extending the gap between their car and the SUVs, they park at the small dusty road leading nowhere. Thirty seconds later they are in the ambush, observing the van that's supposed to be the bait, from a safe distance. 

Minutes pass. Nothing happens. They lie still, waiting, eyes on the road. Ten minutes, then fifteen. Nothing. 

Carrie lets out a sigh of relief. 

“They're not coming.” 

“Yeah. Looks like that.” 

“Shit Quinn, I was so scared! I thought we're done.” 

“I know. Good to be mistaken. Come!” 

He helps her to her feet and they get back to the van. 

“How’s your ankle?” 

“Uh, fine” 

They are sitting on the threshold of the rear door. Her hands are shaking slightly, and she's not holding it together, now as the danger is over, she's trying to breathe, to decrease her heart rate, and she's unaware that tears run down her face. He pulls her close, comforting, brushing her back. 

“It's over, it's over, we are almost there.” 

She looks at him. 

“Quinn, what if they kill us? I can't…” 

He wants to tell her that nobody's after them, it was a mistake, they escaped and won't be killed, they are too far already… but somehow he understands what she's trying to say. 

Quinn, what if they kill us now, and we’ll never know? Never experience this – being together, holding each other in our arms, making love, giving and receiving all the tenderness and passion we are capable of? What if we never kiss again? What if life tears us apart, and we won't touch each other again? Would it ever be – the moment more perfect than this, right now, to love and to be loved? 

“I know Carrie, I can't wait too.” 

They kiss, it's tender first, then desperate, then urgent, breathless, and the air is electrified, they rip off each other's clothes along the way, hastening to feel the bare skin under the eager hands, so hungry for the contact it feels like they can collide to become one. It's overwhelming, too much yet not enough, as they're finally naked none of them can wait any longer, their eyes fixed on each other as he enters and they both groan, hurt and relief and the pleasure that fills their blood like a drug, knocking them over. He thrusts and Carrie starts to scream right away, it's utterly hot and almost unbearable, not breaking eye contact, he moves faster, losing control, pushing into her violently and seconds later they both explode. He kisses her as the waves of orgasm are rushing through their bodies, pleasure so intense and sharp that makes all their prior experience tasteless compared to it. They stay connected, foreheads touching, until they're able to breathe and think again. 

“We can kill each other like this”, she chuckles, still panting, and she can tell by his dilated pupils and smitten look that it almost happened. 

“Shit, Carrie”, - all he can master, focusing on her, removing damp hair from her face and kissing her softly, fondly, smiling against her mouth. 

_Words are scary, and they are totally compromised by millions of lies in our lives, by manipulations and recruiting techniques we are so good at. But this wordless connection is stronger than any heartfelt conversation we had or would ever have. I hope you can see it, no, I know that you see it and feel it with every cell of your body, my love for you, Carrie, I know you do, and I feel it too._

They are entwined, arms wrapped around each other, slowly coming back to reality. 

“Where are we going now, Quinn?” 

“Good question. You’ll find out soon.” 

“I don't like surprises.” 

“It's not bad, I promise.” 

Another long drive, evening and night, this time they don't have to foul the trail so often, they move forward faster, and soon they drive along the seashore south-east. It’s a splendid view, even at night, and as the dawn comes they stop at the small viewing point high on the cliff, astonished by the view, by the colors, by the air thick with the sea scent, by pines and olive trees on the steeps, stones red and golden in the rays of the rising sun. 

They share a coffee and a chocolate bar in silence. 

It is memorable, the moment that leaves a trace in your soul, a picture to revisit – a simple breakfast, the sunrise, the sea and the feeling of freedom and the fresh start. It's bittersweet, because they run and hide, and they'll never be free for real until they find out who wants her dead. But they have each other and it makes difference. 

“I miss Frannie.” 

“I know.” He squeezes her arm reassuringly. “We’ll get through this.” 

She sighs, realizing it might take a long time till it would be safe to see her daughter. 

He doesn't know what else to say. 

“We are almost there. Two hours more or less.” 

They arrive at the small isolated village - dazzling white houses with flowers on the porches - in a bay, surrounded by cliffs. They leave the car and Quinn leads them towards a motor boat tied up at the mooring line, and they put out to the sea. 

Carrie doesn't comment, but she's genuinely amazed and moved – by everything he did it for her, keeping her safe, giving her hope, being ready to share her troubles, whatever they are. 

The place that is destined to be their home for the near future is an island, hardly 10 kilometers in diameter, only rocks, pines and two villages with farms. It's large enough to provide everything needed for a living – food and essentials, there's even a small tavern and a post office that’s never open, because its employee is always hanging around in the tavern, drinking coffee and playing chess with the visitors or sleeping in his chair. It’s very quiet, just the dust, the sun, the pine smell and the wind in the dry grass and cicadas singing. 

Their place is a picturesque small white and blue house up on the rock, isolated from the rest of the world by the sea and the cliffs. Steep stairs, starting from the porch, lead up to the top of the cliff and then to the trail toward the village, and down to the isolated beach, reachable only by sea, so small that there's only a place for the boat and for the two of them. 

They go up to the terrace, it's shadowy and cool under the lean-to and the view is breathtaking. 

Overwhelmed, she hugs him tightly, whispering “Thank you” into his chest. 

***  
_One month later._

Carrie is lying on the sand of their tiny private beach, head on her arms, she dozed off while reading – reports, of course. It's evening, the air is golden in the rays of the setting sun, and the sea, mix of turquoise, white and blue, is calm. Her tan is dark in contrast with the white towel she's wrapped in, and her hair became even more fair, wheat and white honey, due to the sun; she looks so relaxed, so beautiful, and Quinn thinks how lucky they both are, having this involuntary vacation from their lives, that made them stop for a while and gave some time to see the perspective. 

As they stopped pushing each other away and started talking, it occurred that they are on the same page on almost everything, and if they are not, they can still argue, but it doesn't have to be ugly and harmful. Life is so much easier if he can shut her up kissing her roughly, and if she can grab him and say “I hate you and I'm going to fuck you now”, really, it solves a lot of problems. And then, they listen to each other as they always did, and there is a decision good enough for both. 

There was a lot of work. They've checked leads, pulled strings, asked trusted people for help, it wasn't easy with their isolated life. Finally they were lucky. 

He lies next to her, pulls closer and kisses her shoulder, tasting the sea salt on her skin. She opens her eyes. 

“Hey. I fell asleep.” 

“I can see that. I’ve got good news.” 

“Uhm?” 

“They're caught. Those whom Alison was working for, all of them. We can go home.” 

She smiles sincerely and kisses him, the kiss that was supposed to be just a brief confirmation of affection gets heated in a second; it happens every time they touch each other, like a spark that sets their world on fire. Her palms are in his hair and she’s lost, arching her back for more contact while he’s clasping her body to him in earnest, entering her mouth with his demanding tongue, rolling her to her back, unwrapping the towel and ridding himself of his boxer shorts. He’s rock hard and he rubs firmly against her clit making them inhale sharply, and it ‘s all they have for foreplay, being too impatient and wired to prolong it. He places himself against her slit and pressed into her slowly, making her restless, craving for him, and it’s arousing as hell to tease her like that, see her begging for more, wiggling and moaning in desire, her look almost angry but so yearning, and he obliges, thrusting full force, earning her screams. She's loud and it blows his mind every time, this and her flushed face and her eyes fixed on him, and the way she moans his name. 

When she comes, he can feel her contracting around him, it's too much and he goes right after her. 

They're quiet for a while, lying face to face, entwined. 

“Quinn?” 

“Yeah Carrie.” 

“I wish we could return here one day.” 

“Any time.” 

“Any time?” 

“That's what I said.” 

“Wait. Is that your way of telling me that this place is yours?” 

“It’s mine. Well, technically not Peter Quinn’s property, but it's mine.” 

“Since when?” 

“Since recently.” 

“That's crazy, you know that, don't you?” 

“Maybe. Or maybe not.” 

“Jesus, Quinn, never knew you are such a romantic.” 

“It's simple. I didn't own anything until now, didn't care where I lived, it made no difference. And this place... I was happy here. I am” 

“Me too… You know what? It's a very good surprise” 

“You’ll learn to love surprises one day, I swear.” 

_The end._

**Author's Note:**

> After the fight had been written, Laure gave me several action prompts to continue with:
> 
> The bad guys attack !  
> \- they take Carrie hostage  
> \- or they take Quinn hostage, they don't know Carrie is hiding somewhere, they try to torture him to learn her whereabouts 
> 
> Then:  
> \- Carrie /Quinn kill the bad guys  
> \- They go to the Quinncave - because it's safe  
> \- Then, with all the tension and everything...  
> \- And then, at the worst moment possible, Jonas arrive!
> 
> As you see, I took it somewhere else and decided that we don't need Jonas at all in this story;) So - he doesn't exist! But it could be fun.


End file.
